A Slice of Life
by SpunSilk
Summary: Kolchak: The Night Stalker story. "You lost it, Carl. Don't you remember? You really lost it." Fair warning: mild profanity.
1. Chapter 1

Carl is not mine, but I'm borrowing him for this story. Publishing on this site is only fun when we get feedback. Please review, good or bad, tell your reactions.

**A Slice of Life**

**by SpunSilk**

**Part one**

* * *

**The first draught serveth for health,  
****the second for pleasure,  
****the third for shame,  
****and the fourth for madness.**

**–––– Anacharsis**

* * *

His eyes shot open, his heart racing. Oh! They were a dream.

He groaned in relief and made to pull the pillow towards him to bear-hug it, but it was attached. Attached? As the terror of the dream slipped away, most of his mind turned to the curiosity of his pillow being attached to the bed. He came up on one elbow to examine it. Huh. The pillow was on two short leashes, and it wasn't going anywhere. He found himself amused. Who would leash a pillow?

A quick glance around the room had him wide awake, fast. The room was unfamiliar in the early morning light. The furnishings were sparse and simple. A flop-house? Had he gotten drunk last night? Could be, he didn't remember. He laid back down. Wait a second. His eyes popped open again –– no hang-over. So that couldn't be it. He was up on an elbow again, looking around warily. A very large mirror dominated one wall, and the metal door had a large plate-glass window in it, with wire mesh embedded inside. The small high window that was letting in a small patch of daylight also had wire mesh. Looking down at himself, he noticed he was wearing soft dinghy yellow... surgical scrubs?... the color of mushy daffodils. What the hell was all this?

He swung himself out of the bed and went to the door. There was no handle on the inside. It was here that he started feeling nervous. Not a flop-house. He couldn't see anyone through the large window that looked out onto an industrial-looking hallway, but he started banging his hand flat on the window anyway. "Hey!" he yelled, "Hey!"

A prison? He certainly didn't remember getting _that_ drunk. What could he have done? No, wait –– no hang-over.

A large man in a blue jump-suit appeared on the outside of the door and unlocked it with a key from his belt ring. "Good morning, Carl. How are you today?"

"How do you know my name?" He demanded suspiciously.

The man smiled tolerantly. "Well, if I didn't already know you, I could have read it off the sign outside your door..."

"What is this place? A prison?"

"Prison? No, no! This is a _hospital_, Carl."

"Oh! A hospital. Of course." he grinned in relief, "_That_ makes sense now. You would be surprised how may times I have come-to, disoriented, in a hospital..."

"I doubt that I would be surprised." the orderly smiled.

Carl was checking himself for injuries, but found no injuries outside of odd dark bruises ––and _callouses_?–– around his wrists. "There's a _strange_ place to beat a man." he commented, frowning. "What was I fighting last night? Did I mention?"

"Those bruises are your own fault, Carl."

"How's that again?" he asked, glancing up from studying his forearms.

"You know you shouldn't fight the bands."

"Bands?" His heart seemed to skip a beat. "What _bands_?" The large man didn't answer, and Carl turned slowly back to the bed, where restraining bands hung limp down the sides of the bed for both the hands and feet. It may have been the sick-yellow outfit, but the color of his skin seemed to turn slightly green. "Wh..." he managed. "...what _kind_ of hospital is this?"

"A _safe_ hospital. You have nothing to fear here. Do you understand, Carl? You're **_safe_**."


	2. Chapter 2

**A Slice of Life**

**Part two**

* * *

**There was never a genius without a tincture of madness.**

**––– Aristotle**

* * *

Kolchak stared at him with wide eyes but could find nothing in his brain to say.

"It's Sunday. Your friend is coming today. Won't that be nice?" the orderly continued, "I'm sure you will want to shave for him today, hmm?"

Kolchak's hand went to his chin, where he was shocked to feel a days-old stubble. "How long have I been here?" he demanded. "What was I brought in _for_?"

"Now, Carl. You know we're not to discuss any of that, it only gets you riled up."

"If I don't get some answers here, you're going to learn about 'riled up', friend." he threatened.

"I don't have time for you, Carl. There's only me on this wing this early. Talk to Danny." he made to close the door, "Why don't you shave and get ready for your visitor, hmm?"

"What visitor?"

"Your friend. Mr. Vincenzo. You remember."

Kolchak's eyebrows jumped. "Now, _that's_ good."

The orderly studied him with amusement. "Why, you're having a strong lucid phase this morning, aren't you?"

"Did you just use the word _lucid?" _he grated, but the orderly was re-locking the door.

* * *

oooooooo

* * *

An hour later, Carl sat on the bed, clean-shaven and hyper-alert. He had been allowed use of an electric shaver –– he had been told a wet shave was out of the question. An unappetizing bowl of room-temperature oatmeal sat ignored on a tray in front of him. The single door to the room was closed and locked. But he had figured out what the large mirror on the side wall was for, as well as having noticed the closed-circuit camera in the upper corner of the small room by the ceiling. He sat; watching _them_ watch _him_.

He said nothing.

* * *

oooooooo

* * *

He was sitting expectantly cross-legged on the bed when the big orderly unlocked the door and let the visitor in. Anthony Vincenzo entered looking weary and older than Kolchak had expected. "Hello, Carl." Tony said cautiously. The orderly left the door propped wide open.

"Tony. It's _great_ to see you." Kolchak spoke seriously, his chest filling with hope. "Man, am I glad you came." He extended a hand, which the other man took and gripped firmly.

Vincenzo smiled broadly as he took the single chair. "Well, you are looking good, today!"

Kolchak glanced with annoyance at the open door. "Tony, I don't remember a lot between before I got here and this morning, but I'm clear now. And I need your help."

"You can always count on me for help, Carl." Tony spoke heart-felt. "Always."

"I know that." He smiled warmly. "Thank you. I knew I could count on you. They're not listening to me, but they _will_ listen to _you_. Tell them to let me out of here."

"What?"

"Tony," he leaned forward and lowered his voice, glancing at the open door. "This place is a _funny farm_. _You_ know and _I_ know there has been some kind of mistake."

Tony studied his friend appraisingly. "You're better than I've seen you in a long time! Your gaze is steady, and your speech is... almost... Carl! This is great progress! How do you feel?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Feel?" he asked, astounded. "Like a big cat in a small cage! Are you surprised?"

"I am! Surprised and delighted!"

"What?"

"This is almost like talking to you... before. What is it you want my help with?"

Kolchak stared at him in astonishment. "I want you to get them to release me!"

Vincenzo's jaw dropped. "Release you?"

"Yeah!"

"Now, Carl. Think a second. Look at the progress. Why, this is amazing. Obviously they are _finally_ getting the meds right. Now is not the time to talk about release, not now that you are starting to make progress––"

"Vincenzo!** I. Am. S_ane!_** I don't need nor want any **drugs** pumped into me. What I _do_ want is for you to do what you need to, to get me _sprung_. Come on, you can drop me off at home––"

"I am not going to 'spring' you on a whim, nitwit!" his voice rose, just like in the old days.

"Vincenzo! You have to! You're my only chance!"

"I can't and I won't."

"Why the hell _**not**_?"

"I was the one who had you committed in the _first_ place!"

His words hung silently in the air. Vincenzo shifted uncomfortably as the orderly came to the door to check on the excited voices. He glanced from one to the other, then left again without comment.

Kolchak felt a deep pit open up under his feet. "You?" he asked in disbelief, "_**You**_ put me here?"

"No,no! You put _yourself_ here. I just–– signed the papers." he answered defensively.

Kolchak stared at him in shock. "_...et tu, Antonio?_" he asked slowly.

"That's not fair, Carl! I don't deserve that attitude! You don't know what I've _suffered_ over all this!"

"_Oh_! My heart _bleeds_! " Kolchak's voice rose in response, "I figure you've suffered less for it that _I_ have!" he grabbed the bed's band restraint in a fist and held it up under Tony's nose.

"I've been here for it, I've seen you raging. I'm not un-informed." he responded, his defenses up, "I did what I had to, Carl. I can't change that, nor would I. It was for your own good! You _know_ I haven't abandoned you here. I come every week to check on you, like clock-work!"

" ––every _week_? How long have I been here?" he asked, startled.

Vincenzo inhaled. "Don't get yourself upset. Look, now you're starting to make progress., let's stay the course. You're still a danger to yourself ––"

"A _danger_ to myself? That's crazy!"

Tony just nodded, sadly.

"No! No––I mean... crazy to think I'd harm myself..."

"You're not feeling suicidal?"

"**No**!"

"Well, I can't get over how _coherent_ you are. I'm very hopeful. Yes, sir!"

All the wind had left Kolchak's sails. "Tony," he said weakly, "tell me at least what you brought me here because _of_."

Vincenzo sighed deeply, and looked him square in the eye. "You lost it, Carl. Don't you remember? You _really_ lost it."

* * *

oooooooooo

* * *

The psychiatrist, Dr Harrelson, placed his fingertips together and studied his patient on the other side of his desk carefully. "Why you _came_? In the beginning?"

"Yeah. I'm curious." Kolchak stood in the doctor's sterile office.

"Everyone was in agreement that this would be the best place for you."

"When you say 'everyone'... I assume _my_ opinion was counted too?" he asked with irony.

"At the time of admission, specifically, you were less than conversational," the doctor smiled tolerantly. "But soon afterwards you responded well to the medications, and you have acclimated to life with us."

"What is it I've got?"

"Got?"

"There's a reason when a person gets committed, Doc. I want to know mine. No white-coat psycho-babble either. I want it in plain English."

"My, you _are_ having a good day today!"

"People keep mentioning," he answered dismissively. "Answer my question."

"Hmm. You had what the common man calls 'a nervous break-down'."

"Involving what?" he demanded.

"Fits of raging, loss of contact with reality, feelings of being pursued or threatened by a wide range of fantastical creatures. You've made great progress here coming to understand that these threats are all self-manufactured."

"When was this break-down?" he held the doctor's gaze with narrow eyes.

The doctor smiled broadly. "Carl, you really are doing exceptionally _well_ this morning..."

Kolchak scowled. "If you don't mind, I'm going to ask you to stop calling me that."

"What, '_Carl _'? Is your name something else this morning?"

"No, don't be stupid," he said, irritated, "But we don't know each other well enough for you to use my first name."

"But we do. You and I have had many long talks."

"Well, I don't know who you've been talking to, but it wasn't _**me**_."

The psychiatrist continued to smile tolerantly. "Alright then, what would you _like_ me to call you?"

"A cab home." came the terse reply.

The doctor chuckled and studied him in silence for a while before making some notes on his clip-board. "_This_ is your home, Carl." he said soothingly, "You're _safe_ here."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Slice of Life**

**Part three**

* * *

**Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting.**

**–– John Russell**

* * *

Kolchak sat brooding in the Day Room, a mushy-daffodil colored bathrobe wrapped around his mushy-daffodil scrubs. His first theory was this was all a new nightmare, but he had rejected that theory. It didn't follow the usual threat-danger-pursuit storyline of his nightmares. He had wracked his brain to find some memory of the weeks before but had come up empty, and was reduced to watching and waiting.

Other patients, similarly dressed, walked or shuffled past him. Few even glanced his way; busy as they were, with their own demons. But then a skinny patient, some 30 years old with dark hair and large black-rimmed glasses and a thick sketch pad under his arm entered and made a bee-line towards him. "Good morning You are Carl Kolchak and I am Danny Belger Pleased to meet you." he spoke as if he were reading it off a card. He extended his hand stiffly, and spoke to the floor.

Kolchak started in surprise, but shook his hand. The younger man sat down on the chair next to him, but looked at the floor as he spoke. "You were gone a long time this time. I missed you What do you want to know?"

Kolchak shifted in his chair, trying to evaluate the young man. "We know each other?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes but you never remember squat from one bad episode to the next so I have more luck if I introduce myself again each time. I don't mind Everybody has their stuff." He continued to speak to the floor. "What do you want to know?"

"What?"

"You always have lots of questions and I answer them Then you are calmer."

Kolchak looked at him with quiet alarm. "Always? This happens frequently?"

"Every few weeks at least."

"Where do I go? Am I taken somewhere?"

"No, you just wig out Then they keep you in your room and we don't talk for days and that makes me sad."

Carl stared at him in horror. "What does 'wigging out' look like?" he asked, afraid to actually hear the answer.

"You yell and fight Louder than anybody But I don't hold it against you Everybody deals with their own stuff."

He felt like he had been gut-kicked, and could not respond for several minutes. The skinny man sat silently staring at the floor while Kolchak tried to piece it together. "Danny," After long thinking, he finally spoke, "How long have I been here?"

"Five years, three months and six days,"

"Five _years_?" his jaw dropped.

"Three months and six days."


	4. Chapter 4

**A Slice of Life**

**Part four**

* * *

**Great wits are sure to madness near allied,**

**and thin partitions do their bounds divide.**

**–John Dryden**

* * *

"Five _years_? I don't remember any of it!"

"You only remember from one bad episode to the next Then You have what you call a black-out, and I explain it all to you again." He continued to talk to the floor, not looking at Kolchak.

"How long do I go between these... episodes?" he asked, deeply concerned.

"Anywhere from a day to sometimes a couple weeks."

"That's the biggest slice of life I get? A couple weeks? Then I start _over_?"

"Yes You have a hard time forming a 'big picture' You complain often of that. I don't mind explaining it to you again and again Repetition is something I enjoy That's part of _my_ stuff." He began tracing the seams sewn in the chair on the other side of him with his index finger.

Kolchak sat in shock, trying to absorb it all. "_Why_ don't I remember?"

"Nobody knows– It's just the way you are."

"It's not the way I **_was_**!"

"That's true You do have your memories from before you arrived here." He continued the tracing.

"That's right. How would you know that?"

"When the small-slice-of-life problem bothers you too much we talk about your monsters That calms you down and I enjoy the stories."

"_What_ do we talk about?"

"You tell me stories about your monsters. I know it's all just part of your stuff but I enjoy listening The words you use are flowery You used to write for newspapers."

"Which monsters of mine?" he asked cautiously.

"The ones you imagine you have fought." He traced.

"Ah. My monsters are part of my _stuff_, you think." he said warily.

"Sure. Vampires are fictional beings."

"Ah-huh."

"You are working with Dr. Harrelson on remembering that they are all just made-up in your head But sometimes you forget to remember, and we talk about them."

"Ah-huh."

Down the hall, a woman screamed a blood-curdling scream. Kolchak started violently, but Danny sat calmly tracing and indicated various people in the Day Room with jerks of his head. "Over at the table that's Sammy and Raj. Raj doesn't talk much but he will answer you if you repeat it Sammy is non-verbal so don't bother trying to talk to _him_––"

"Did somebody just scream?"

"Yes That's Sarah There go our doctors: My doctor is on the left He is Dr. Bennett and your doctor is on the right He is Dr. Harrelson––"

"We've met." Kolchak frowned, distracted. "Why did Sarah scream?"

"Sarah is bad today." Another scream, longer this time. Danny traced the seam-lines in the chair.

"Shouldn't we go help her?" Kolchak asked, unnerved.

"The staff help her. They will have her in the Safe Room."

The woman in question continued with loud inarticulate protest, and Kolchak could sit still no longer. He followed the sound around the corner and down a hall. Danny and sketchbook followed.

Two orderlies stood outside a heavy door with a large glass-and-wire-mesh viewing window. They were watching a woman through the window as she spun and cried out, screamed and threw herself blindly at the walls of the room. She bounced and jerked like an amateurish marionette.

"Stand ready with the vest in case she needs it... Blast! She has some fingernail showing! Why weren't they trimmed?"

"Somebody dropped the ball on that one," the other orderly agreed.

"A padded room. An actual _padded room_..." Kolchak realized with shock.

One of The orderlies noticed him watching and scowled. "It's not your _turn_, Carl. Move along."

His words hit Kolchak like a Mac truck. "You put _me_ in there?" he croaked.

Danny pulled at his arm, and led him back to the Day Room. "All this is a shock to you each time."

"What was she doing?"

"Raging. They will see she is not injured."

"And that's what... I do?"

Danny nodded. "Haven't you noticed how strong you are? Often that's one of the first things you comment on."

"I _have_ noticed." He touched his biceps. "Not an ounce of fat on me. I haven't been this toned since high school..."

"You get strong fighting them, and the raging is pure exercise." Danny returned to the same chair he had before. Kolchak sat also, the wheels spinning in his head.

"Has Sarah always done that? Like me?"

"No This is new for her She started two months and four days ago."

"She must black-out about life with the raging, too..."

"No She blacks-out _during_ the raging, but her slices-of-life are strung together." He began tracing the seam-lines in the chair next to him.

"Oh. Lucky her." Kolchak leaned forward to rest his heavy head in his hands.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"I don't need and I don't want any _therapy session_."

"It's part of your road to mental health, Carl." They were in Dr Harrelson's office again, facing off with the large desk between them.

"I don't know you, or _trust_ you and I can't see how looking at inkblots is going to help anything." he said resolutely.

"We've never done inkblots." the doctor responded calmly. "We just discuss what's going on in your life, and I help you interpret it."

"And you're better at understanding me than I am _myself_ because of...?"

"Five years of medical school followed by six years of Abnormal Psychology training."

Kolchak shook his head. "Sorry. Even that doesn't qualify a body to understand **my** life." He crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair.

"Carl, we _need_ to talk to continue your progress."

The patient sat mute.

"Carl. I know you can be stubborn," (Kolchak smiled smugly) "But we _must_ have therapy."

"Doc, your big blue men can keep me in this office ––it's true. But nobody can _make_ me talk."

"Carl," he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck wearily , "don't make me pull out the big guns. Please."

Kolchak sat in stoney silence.

The man in the white lab-coat sighed and watched him. A battle of wills.

Kolchak sat.

"Alright." the doctor sighed. "This is _your_ choice. Let's talk about ... _Thomas_." He had the confident expression of a man who knows there's an ace in his cuff.

Their eyes locked. Silence hung between them for a pause. Kolchak raised his chin slightly. "Tom who?" he asked warily.

"_Thomas_, Carl."

Kolchak's eyes went narrow. They glared at each other in long silence.

"... you _bastard_." Kolchak said quietly.

"My thinking is your psychosis began back then––"

"Was I, by any chance, _drugged_ out of my **gourd** when this came up, _Doctor_?" he asked, his voice tinged with hatred.

"Obviously, it would be traumatic enough to _scar_ any 10-year-old, deeply, even without considering the implications to the family's bonds––"

"You know, I know a lot more about a citizen's civil rights protections in this country than you would want me to right now––" Kolchak stated desperately, feeling the Old Panic rising. His pulse began to race for no apparent reason.

"Your constant willingness to believe there are monsters 'out there' is a _direct_ result of this trauma. You have been practically _unable_ to experience feelings of **security **after the incident."

"**Not** to change the subject, but––" perspiration was gathering on his brow.

"But you must face the shock, not constantly turn away from it. Your father **shook **your infant brother in front–––"

"Stop it! _**Stop it**_!" Kolchak roared. He leapt to his feet and leaned onto the large desk, breathing hard. "**That is **_**not**_** spoken of!**"

The psychiatrist frowned at him calmly. "Carl, if you become agitated, we will only have to take a trip to the Safe Room."

Kolchak was vibrating with emotion, barely even hearing him. "No." He pointed a finger at the doctor shakily. "No. You have _everything_ else. You have taken my career, you've taken my past away from me, you've taken my future, you even have my sorry corpse locked up–– **No**; _this_ is a part of me you can _not_ have... "

"I already have it, Carl." he regarded him cooly. "Now, are you willing to do a talk therapy session with me?

Kolchak stared at him for a long time. Eventually, however, he sank silently back into his chair. He took four slow, deep breaths. "It doesn't need to come up again?" he asked, as if standing on eggshells.

"No, not unless I need it again." He smiled and leaned forward. "Now then, last time we were working on _zombies_..."

* * *

oooooo

* * *

Two hours later Kolchak sat hunched over on a chair in the Day Room, his eyes staring unfocused in front of him. His facial expression was deflated, his color –– in spite of the mushy-yellow shirt –– was almost grey. Danny approached him.

"Hey." No response. "Carl, are you going downhill?"

The older man seemed to come to himself. "Oh. Danny. Hi." he responded listlessly.

"Carl, are you going downhill?" he repeated.

"I don't know, Danny. I don't know. Can you do me a favor and leave me alone a while? I really don't feel like talking..."

"I can sit _without_ talking That's easy for me. And it might help you." He sat in the chair next to him and stared at the floor, but didn't speak a word.

Carl watched him a while with a bemused expression, then a small smile played on one side of his mouth.

They sat, together.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Slice of Life**

**Part five**

* * *

**I do not have a psychiatrist and I do not want one, for the simple reason that if he listened to me long enough, he might become disturbed.**

**––James Thurber**

* * *

Kolchak examined a small cup with many colors of pills, "What are all these for?"

"Oh, you've got your mood-stabilizers, your anti-psychotics, I think there's an anti-depressant in there too..." the dark-haired orderly answered.

"What's an anti-psychotic do?"

"Keeps you from seeing things that aren't there."

"Like Vampires?"

"Yeah, like that."

"My good man, if a vampire does walk in, I sure as hell want to **see** it."

The orderly smiled, "Carl, you know that if you don't take them, we can make you. And remember how much you hate that?"

* * *

oooooooo

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"Carl, believe me when I tell you it did **not** happen––"

"Excuse me, _Doctor_, but **you** weren't _there_ ––"

"Excuse _me_ Carl, but I didn't _need_ to be there. I know how biochemistry works. Once the heart stops pumping, the cells are destined to die for simple lack of oxygen. That's a **fact**, Carl. Once the cells are dead, the only thing happening is the beginnings of **decay**, and any talk of re-animation is pure _fairy tales_. Now listen to me," he insisted, as the patient fumed and crossed his arms in frustration, "This is the way chemistry works. Molecules interact in clean, predictable ways. The human body, once it dies, _rots_. End of story. What you describe is a _physical impossibility_."

Kolchak set his jaw and said nothing in return.

"So let's try again. You opened the hearse and...? Give me a wholesome answer."

"Doctor, I cannot."

"What?"

"Give you a _wholesome_ answer: " he glared at the man behind the desk, "my _**wit's**_ diseased."

Dr Harrelson glared in return. "Hamlet, Act II." he grumbled. "Okay smart man, let's start from the top... _again_."

* * *

oooooo

* * *

"I could really use a bourbon right now."

Danny spoke to the floor. "You often need cheering up after a Talk Therapy session. They tell me working through reality challenges is especially hard. I'm sorry for you."

Kolchak grunted. "You don't have any 'reality challenges'?"

"No I don't have a problem understanding reality That's not my stuff My problem is understanding people People confuse me They act in unpredictable ways. I need order, structure."

Kolchak grunted a second time. "If you're waiting for people to start acting predictably and orderly, it sounds to me _your_ job will be harder than _mine_..." he studied him. "Danny, can you look me in the eye when we talk?"

"No it hurts"

"It _hurts_?" he repeated, startled.

"Yes."

"Oh... Then _don't_." He sat quietly feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. "I'm so tired. I feel I could sleep for a week."

"That could be your meds."

"Danny, have you ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?"

"No."

"Or brain-washing?"

"Brains cannot be washed They are encased in a bone called the skull, and are sterile there without soap."

Kolchak smiled weakly for the first time in a long while. "You're right, of course. But the process of breaking down a person's defenses by isolation... repetition and _saturation_ is an effective one." he sighed deeply. "Add to all that the _drugs_..." His voice trailed off and Danny said nothing.

"In circumstances like that, weak minds break quickly." Kolchak said, mostly to himself. "_Strong_ ones..." he took a long breath, "... break a little later on."


	6. Chapter 6

**A Slice of Life**

**Part six**

* * *

**The problem isn't that they have put you in a rubber room. The problem is still the voices in your head.**

**––Michael Pickering**

* * *

Before he even opened his eyes he could feel the exhaustion, as if he had just finished a marathon. He lay panting on the foul-smelling floor. When his eyes opened and revealed the wall opposite him to be padded, he quickly closed them again, tight.

A voice came, muffled, from outside the closed door with the large wire-mesh and glass window. "Carl? Are you back? Come on. Show me a thumbs-up, Champ." Kolchak rolled over with a groan onto his back. The damn ceiling was padded too... "Come on. Show me a thumbs-up!" His mind was fragmented and his panting body bone-dead tired. And that insistent muffled voice... "Give me a thumbs-up, Champ, and I can help you."

He complied with a weak thumbs-up. The door swung open and an muscular orderly with a blond pony-tail stepped in.

"Water..." he croaked.

The orderly was already screwing the top off a bottle of water and handed it to him. "Always know the fever's broken when you ask for water... Come on! Up and walk." The patient drank half the bottle before coming up for air, then made to lie down again. "Can't lay down just yet. Your body would mutiny. Come on!" He helped him to his feet and supported him to the hallway and the relatively better air it offered. "I got a wheelchair for you, but you have to walk it till your heart slows. After that, you can sit, and I have some orange juice for you for some blood sugar. How does that sound?" He placed Kolchak's hands on the grips of the chair. "Come on, walk a bit."

Kolchak stumbled behind the chair, with the orderly following closely for support. After 30 feet, he turned to ask for the water again, but the orderly was handing it to him before he asked. Like a choreographed dance, he seemed to know. Kolchak drank deeply.

He finished the water and handed the empty bottle back to him. "What's your name, friend?"

The orderly smiled broadly. "Murphy. Thanks for asking. But I won't be miffed if you don't hold onto that."

They walked the corridor. "Good," Murphy commented, "Now take a seat and I'll play taxi driver." Kolchak lowered himself thankfully into the chair. As the hospital passed by them, the orderly commented good-naturedly, "I'll take you back to your room and you can sleep it off. 18 hours of sleep and you'll be a new man, pestering us with questions."

Kolchak suddenly sat up straight. "Wait. I remember." he said in surprise.

The orderly cocked his head. "You do?"

Kolchak tried to organize his fragmented mind. With some effort, things pulled into place. "I was... raging, wasn't I?"

"You _remember_ the raging?"

"No. That's black. But I remember _before_. But if the pattern holds, I'm supposed to have a black-out about yesterday and the day before, right?"

"Yesterday being..." Murphy stopped and with a deft movement, he spun the chair around to face him.

The patient searched his rattled brain. "Monday."

"Well, Monday was two and a half days ago, but you've been otherwise occupied. You remember Sunday and Monday? You're sure?"

Kolchak screwed up his face with effort. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Well! That's exciting news!" He spun the chair back forwards and they continued though the hall. "These past three months I've noticed little jumps in progress you've been making, but this would be _huge_."

A man's scream was heard from the opposite end of the hall. An orderly at that end of the hallway was seen to slip quickly into that patient's room. Murphy sighed. "It's always _some_body..." he groused. "Listen Champ, I know your M.O. You're going to be fine at least a day. Is it alright if I let you hang out here, and go assist Martins? Richard is a strong fellow..."

Kolchak gave him a thumbs-up, "But leave the O.J." Murphy grinned and flipped the bottle to him out of his back pocket as he headed off down the hallway at a jog.

He twisted the top off and drank deeply. The sugar hit his blood with an effect surprising similar to high-proof alcohol. He lay his head back and savored the interesting sensation, as well as the luxurious memories of two full days.

Danny (together with his ever-present sketch pad) appeared from the Day Room, and seeing him down the hall in the wheel chair, made a bee-line for him. "Hello You are Carl Kolchak and I am––"

He held up a hand. "No need this time, Danny. I remember two days." Danny stopped short, with a look of confusion ––that quickly changed to discomfort. His eyes went wide and actually looked at the man in the wheelchair. He turned away and began rocking. "Hey, kid. Are you okay?" Kolchak asked with concern.

"No Not okay I always introduce myself to you after a bad episode Always."

"But I know you this time. It isn't _necessary_."

Danny grimaced and rocked. "It's necessary for _me_." he breathed through clenched teeth.

Kolchak sat amazed; Danny looked like he could hear fingernails scraping across a blackboard. "Well, go ahead if it will help––"

"Hello-You-are-Carl-Kolchak-and-I-am-Danny-Belger-Pleased-to-meet-you-What-do-you-want-to-know?" left him in a rush. His body visibly relaxed, and he took in a long, calming breath. He plopped down cross-legged on the floor next to the wheelchair. "I'm happy you remember That's two slices of life connected That's great progress." He glanced quickly at the older man's face before talking to the floor again. "I'm sorry You think I'm quirky..."

"Actually that _was_ the word that sprang to mind."

"You told me this is the word that describes me But there are routines that I must follow to have my life hold together. I need the structure. Even if nobody else understands it."

Kolchak studied him for a while then shook his head. "Don't worry about it, kid. Everybody... has their stuff."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Please review, guys. In this case, silence is _not_ golden...**

**A Slice of Life**

**Part seven**

* * *

**It's unlikely I'll ever submit to a psychiatrist's couch. I don't want some stranger prowling around through my psyche, monkeying with my id. I don't need an analyst to tell me that I have never had any sense of security. Who has?**

**~ Tallulah Bankhead ~**

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"Reptiles don't behave that way, Carl."

"This one did. So your statement should be '_Most_ reptiles don't behave that way.'

"Stop putting words in my mouth! Reptiles lay their eggs, and after that the eggs are on their _own_. The sheer numbers of eggs the female lays make up for the lack of parental protection. What you're describing is mammalian––"

"What I'm describing is what I _saw_––"

"Your story is chock full of holes in logic! At least admit that the story your subconscious has invented is flawed––"

"–– with my _own_ _eyes_ ––"

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak entered the Day Room at a clip.

An orderly with dark curly hair caught Kolchak's elbow with his own and spun him around as in a square dance. "_Whoa_ there, Carl."

"What's that for?"

"You were about to interrupt Danny, weren't you?"

Kolchak glanced over to the other side of the room. Danny was pacing. "He doesn't look busy to me."

"Danny is pacing his course. Do _not_ stop him until he is done."

"Why not?"

"Closure is important to Danny. He needs to finish."

Kolchak blinked, confused. "Finish what?"

The orderly sighed and began to explain, as if to a child. "Danny has a 40 foot course that he paces – exactly – whenever he needs to calm himself. It goes from there–" he indicated, "–to there. While he is pacing, his brain is coping. If someone pulls him away from that before he's done, it isn't pretty. And I want my shift to be real pretty."

"Oh. That's part of his... stuff?"

"Yeah. You don't mess up his routine. He'll be another 15 minutes or so. Leave him _alone_." he glared threateningly.

"Lighten up! Danny's a nice kid – I wouldn't want to upset him."

The orderly grumbled. "It's just that I've explained this to you about a hundred times. It gets old."

Kolchak took a seat, watching Danny pace with some interest. Danny seemed glaze-eyed, and his lips were moving in some internal conversation. He held his hands at chest-height and worked his fingers quickly doing something only he understood. Kolchak wondered at the storm in his wiring, and why this would help.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"The human animal has an almost unlimited capacity for self-delusion, did you know that, Carl? It's true, they have done studies. Practically unlimited. Now, you have convinced yourself that all this happened, and it has all been a _lie_. A coping mechanism invented –– yes _invented_, listen to me! –– by your subconscious. We can get you _past_ that, you and I working together. But _you_ need to be pulling in the same direction_ I_ am."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak leaned over to another patient sitting at the table, a beefy fellow with a dark crew-cut and a goatee. "Could I ask you ––"

"**No**." came the answer, together with a scowl.

He was taken aback at the abruptness. "Oh. Well pardon _me_!"

"Listen, _Monster Mash_, I don't have Danny's patience. Just leave me _alone_." The patient rose and left.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"Do you know what bothers me most?" He asked the orderly. "The uncertainty. The knowledge that at any moment I could black-out. Gone. Would I remember today again? Or would I be flailing for some starting point all over again? What a bizarre way to lead a life. I can't... dig my toes into life. I'm forever scrambling..."

The orderly gave him a sympathetic glance, but had no sage advice for him. "G'night, Carl" he said and closed and locked the door.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"Tell about the witch, the fashion model." Danny urged.

Kolchak chuckled. They sat across from each other in the Day Room. "Is that one your favorite?"

"It is one of my favorites My very favorite is Whitebread."

Kolchak raised his eyebrows.

Raging was heard from the Safe Room. It didn't even slow their conversation.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"Oh, I _believe_ you believe it happened, Carl. You cannot always trust what your _eyes_ tell you."

"Are you referring to people in general, or me in particular?"

"Well, you in particular, yes. But even neuro-typicals have a brain between their eyeballs and the truth, and the brain interprets and digests the signals it receives. In your case, a faulty brain –– no offense –– can 'report' inaccuracies. You must run everything your _eyes_ tell you through the filter of scientific fact to see if it holds water..."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak sat alone at a round table with his meatloaf and mashed potatoes and industrial brownie on a plastic tray. A woman approached in mushy-yellow. "Can you drive me to the police station?" she asked frantically, her pretty face distorted with panic, "I've got to get there. They have to know about my son. I've talked with Officer Graham there, he's the one in charge. But I can't get through on the telephone. I've got to go in person. My son is _missing_–– " She was almost shaking with nerves.

"Sit down and eat, Josie."

"I don't know what happened to him," her face contorted into a grimace of worry and pain. "I haven't heard from him in days, now. That's just not normal. I don't know a thing about those new friends he has, but I don't trust them. There's something fishy about the whole thing. I'm fearing he may be... dead..."

"Josie." he said sternly, "Calm down. You don't have a son. Never did: I asked Murphy. So don't upset yourself so––"

"I most certainly do! Who says I never had a son?" she demanded, but she sat down next to him.

"Your doctor and your _file_, Missy." He moved his tray to make space for hers. "Eat."

"Well, I do get confused sometimes but I would remember if I didn't have a son! A mother knows these things. What would you know about it? I'm _alive_ inside the whirlpool." She nibbled at the edge of her brownie, ignoring the main course. "When you look at a lake, it all looks flat and calm, but what you can't see is the depth and the underwater hills and valleys... Ridges and cliffs! Sharp rocks!" she cried. "But you can't tell from the outside. It all looks so smooth, and you're deceived if you think you understand it! _I_ know. _I_ live it! What would you know about it?"

"Eat. Settle down. This upset can not be good for you.". He continued with his meal watching the other patients with their dinner trays, some of them balanced as precariously as their moods.

Josie watched him watch the patients and her intensity softened. She reached out and put a hand on his forearm with wide, honest eyes. "There is nothing but still grayness below, and above the huge volcano of The Creation spewing. Between those two you see a thin white horizontal line." She stood and began rubbing his neck and shoulders with her long fingers, massaging. He paused his meal and allowed it. "I am that white line, Carl." she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Write on me."

His shoulders relaxed under her attentions, and he closed his eyes. She smiled and rubbed firmly down his toned upper arms, placing her face at the back of his neck, taking in the smell of him. "You're a _good_ man, Carl... Come with me to the supply closet..."

He reopened his eyes and forced a long breath out, removing first her one hand, then the other. "I told you yesterday, that's not happening."

"Why not?" She came around down to his level and stared him pleadingly in the eyes.

"Why _not_?" With her face so close, he was at a loss for the right words. "Well, it's not that I'm not _tempted_, darlin', don't believe that for a minute." Her eyes held his imploringly. "But, it wouldn't be... ethical."

"Ethical?"

"I'd be taking advantage of... um. I'd be preying on –– ah..." He was clearly flustered by the closeness of her. "Look, Josie... I am _sane_ and you are not. It wouldn't be right."

Her mood swung hard in the opposite direction. "Since when are you sane? What the hell do you think you're doing _here_ then? Get off your high-horse, Carl! Look around you!" She gestured to the other patients in the room. He glanced around. "You're in a _mental hospital_, Mister! You're no more _sane_ than any of us! Face facts, _deal_ with it!"

Kolchak frowned at her. "But I _feel_ sane."

"Don't let it shock you, honey; _so do I._"


	8. Chapter 8

**A Slice of Life**

**Part eight**

* * *

Psychoanalysis is that mental illness for which it regards itself as **therapy**.  
––Karl Krauss

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"None of it happened, Carl." the psychiatrist said with finality.

"You can _not_ do this – take a man's past and dismiss it with a wave of your hand!"

"Yes I _can_, Carl. This is my office and you are a mental patient in my care. Is this not so? I think I'm in a bit better position than you to tell what is real and what is rot." He waited for a response, but the patient only sat silently, staring off to the corner. "Carl, you have lost contact with the real world."

"How do you know?" he asked quietly.

"Do you see the evidence of your raging?"

His vibrato deflated."Well, that part's kind of hard to dispute..."

"You are not sane. When you accept this, we work together and we do make progress. When you're stubborn and fight me, we languish. Your progress this past week is very encouraging. Let's keep it going!"

His patient said nothing.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Early the next morning, the sun did not make it past the grey clouds. The television droned in the background. A few patients sat quietly, staring in its general direction. Kolchak sat at the far end of the Day Room in his mushy-yellow robe fighting depression silently.

He was loosing the battle.

Danny sat across from him, his sketch book open, and made pains-takingly careful lines in it with a No.2 pencil.

Loud yelling was heard from the direction of the Safe Room.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

The next day, Kolchak came-to with a feeling of claustrophobia. He was sitting against the padded wall, his arms held in place around his torso by long sleeves that were buckled in the back. "Oh." he said to no-one. His throat was as dry as two-day-old toast.

The door swung open, and an orderly entered cautiously. "Carl? It's Murphy," he said, unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and holding it up to his lips for him to drink. The patient drank gratefully. After half a bottle, he came up for air and Murphy turned his attention to the buckles. "What do you remember, Champ? Anything?"

The world pulled itself into focus. "Um... yes. I still have... all the way back to last _Sunday_. Minus the black-outs during the raging. I do!"

Murphy's grin lit up the small room. He pulled the bulky vest off the front. "That Dr. Harrelson has finally hit on the right treatment. Listen to everything he says, Carl! He _is_ helping you."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"–– but as it sped toward me, I lobbed the skull into its chest. Bullseye; you would have been proud of my arm, kid."

Danny was swaying with excitement at the story, although he'd heard it many times before. "What happened when it hit?"

"Well, it all kind of disintegrated. Once the skull had contact with it, the bones lost their cohesion and fell like 'dem dry bones' off the bike–– which careened, driverless, into the crates to the left of me..."

He paused, suddenly thoughtful. "––or _not..._ if Dr. Harrelson is right... "

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"Murphy, what would happen if I didn't take these pills this morning?"

"I'd get in trouble. Come on, bottoms's up."

"No, I mean what would happen to _me_? How would things look different to me?"

"I'm not a Doc, Carl."

"But I haven't seen any Vampires here have I? Maybe I've out-grown the need for them..."

"Nobody knows what you see when you're raging, Champ."

Kolchak considered this for a while, then downed the pills.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"–– Describe Crouch to me Did he have a high forehead? Sunken cheeks?" Danny asked, staring at the floor.

A scream came from down the hall.

"Describe him? Hmm. Remember, all this happened in the dark, by star- and moon-light. I'm not sure..." Kolchak sat next to him, pondering. He cocked his head to the side. "Huh. Have you ever noticed whenever we two are here talking, _somebody_ is in the Safe Room?"

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Talk Therapy:

"I've heard the word 'contagious' whispered behind my back. What's that about?"

Dr Harrelson shook his head, "Ignore that nonsense. There is no such thing as a contagious psychosis."

"What do they mean by it?"

"It's just the coincidence of the timing. You see, you were here with your particular form of raging for a good four years without peer. Then these past 14 months, other patients have, one at a time, developed... similar raging episodes. There are _seven_ at present count..." he frowned to himself. "Now, their challenges have _nothing_ to do with you, and you must not listen to the inevitable gossip or feel in _any way_ responsible."

Kolchak sat quietly, contemplating this. "Can you help the other patients?"

"Each patient here is being helped to manage their challenges to be able to re-integrate back into society, if possible."

"And if that isn't possible?" he asked, delicately.

"Then the staff here has the responsibility to keep them _safe_ for the duration of their natural lives."


	9. Chapter 9

**A Slice of Life**

**Part nine**

* * *

**Psychologists who undertake to set themselves up as judges in the field of truth and knowledge are shipwrecked by the laughter of the Gods.**

**~ Albert Einstein ~**

* * *

Kolchak sat watching Danny pace in the Day Room. Curious. Each step landed squarely on a black floor tile of the checker-board patterned floor. Never the green ones...

Murphy approached him. "Hey, Champ! I brought you some thing today." Kolchak looked up from his funk. The orderly handed him the morning paper. "You've been doing so well lately, I wondered if you wanted to read up on what's going on out there. I read in your file you used to be a newspaper man."

He took the paper from him. "That's very kind."

Murphy shrugged. "There's no _good_ news, of course, but I figured you might be ready."

"What?" Kolchak exclaimed, reading the headline, "Ronald Reagan is running for _President_? The actor? You've got to be kidding!"

"No, it's true. They say he has a good chance of winning."

"That's hardly an improvement in the _dignity_ of the man's profession... acting to _politics_... " he mentioned, scanning the article.

The man in blue chuckled. "Not that acting is that dignified to begin with. If he _does_ win, there's going to be some big changes around here, that's for sure..."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak opened his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh." he felt the bands tight around his wrists and ankles. "Damn." He took a deep breath and fought the primal panic of being incapacitated and vulnerable to attack. "I'm back!" he called to the room. "Can someone come release me?" his voice was scratchy.

He fought the panic for five more minutes before the door was unlocked and the red-haired man in blue entered, followed closely by Danny. "Danny, stay outside." the orderly instructed.

"It's okay for Danny to come in." Kolchak said. "He needs to introduce himself." The orderly grunted and worked to release the first band.

Danny approached "Hello, you are Carl Kolchak and I am Danny Belger Pleased to meet you What do you want to know?"

"Pleased to meet you too. You'll understand if I don't shake hands this morning..."

"Yes. What do you want to know?"

"How did my hands get burnt?" he gingerly examined the bandages on both hands. The orderly worked to release his feet.

"You placed them on the hot pan of the coffee maker machine in the Day Room."

"Myself?"

"Yes, I was there You are not allowed in the Day Room any more This is a new rule A change for you. I'm sorry."

"Was I ... raging?"

"Yes You hurt yourself sometimes. It makes me sad."

"It makes me sad too, friend." Danny glanced up at his face when he used the word. He returned his gaze to the floor. "How long was I gone this time?"

"Twenty hours."

Kolchak nodded, resigned. He addressed the orderly. "Can I get some water?"

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"Murphy, I don't want the pills this morning."

"Doctor's orders, Champ. Come on."

"I want to go a day without them, and see what happens."

"Carl." he frowned, "You've always been medication compliant with me. What's this now?"

"I think I could think more clearly without them..."

"Listen, I remember you when you got here. I don't want that guy back. And you shouldn't either. You're _so_ much better off these days."

"Forget to give them to me."

"You're trying to lose me my _job_."

"No, no! I just want to see what I'm like without..."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak sat in the shade of the courtyard. This was where he spent his free time, now, and Danny sat opposite him, focused totally on his sketching. The older man stared at the courtyard without seeing it. He felt confined and frustrated, anxious and directionless. _This keeps up, and I'll be pacing myself before long,_ he mused. _Like Danny._

At length, he felt he must move or die. He rose and started across the court yard. When he reached the wall, he kicked it hard, and began his return trip. Danny sat sketching. Kolchak approached his bench from behind.

Danny was drawing a tiger. Expressive and exact, it could have been a photograph. "Hey, let me see that," he said, distracted, glancing over Danny's shoulder. "You drew this? That's very _good_ Danny."

A smile almost appeared on the young man's face. "You say the same thing each time you see my drawings That makes me feel proud." He handed the pad over. "There's more..."

Kolchak flipped the page to reveal an excellent dragon, with exquisite detail, rearing up on its hind legs and appearing to threaten the viewer, its massive tail swirling gracefully over its head. "No, really. You've got talent. What do you plan to do with these?"

"No Nothing. I just draw because it calms me Keep going." Kolchak kept flipping pages; Dr. Bennett at his desk, a killer whale, two alligators facing off, a drawing of Murphy the orderly grinning jovially, a stegosaurus in dense jungle. "Ha!" he had found a drawing of himself in side-view; leaning his chin on his fist, frowning and deep in thought. "You've got me pegged!"

Danny took the pad from him. He silently flipped to the back half of the pad and handed back.

Kolchak nearly dropped it in surprise. The sketch was a dramatic rendering of –– _the staking of Janos Skorzeny_. There was Jenks holding the cross, the vampire laying reclined in terror on the stairs, and... Kolchak from the back wielding the mallet over his head. A moment in time, frozen in acute detail. Kolchak was speechless.

Danny was swaying with pleasure at his reaction.

"How –– how...?" Kolchak faltered.

"You tell me your stories and I can see them in my head You tell them real well And I can draw any picture that's in my head You like them each time."

"It's incredible! As if you were there!" His jaw hung heavy as he stared at the image, he could almost feel the mallet in his hand again and his heart began to race with the thrill of the kill. "As if it had actually... _happened_..." he trailed off into silence. He turned to the next page, and had to turn away. A close portrait of Francois Edmonds stared out of the page at him, lying partially decayed but dangerously alert in the junked hearse. The closeness of the portrait conveyed the confinement of the vehicle and actually caused him to feel again the claustrophobia of that moment. His legs chose that moment to go on strike, and he collapsed slowly down into the bench once more. He continued to leaf through sketches; the Chicago sewer and the Swamp Monster in the process of rising out of the waste water, only his evil eyes visible; a swirling sketch of Machimonito, which he had actually never really laid eyes on. He held the sketchbook up at eye-level and frowned at the werewolf, caught frozen in mid-leap towards the viewer and the bulkheads of the ship behind him. He frowned.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

Kolchak sat with the sketchbook for half an hour, staring first at one, then another, examining each of many sketches carefully and mulling them over, deep in thought. Danny had left to pace his course, completed it, and returned to the courtyard to find Kolchak unmoved from his bench, still frowning over the sketches.

"I'm sorry if the drawings have upset you this time You have never reacted to them this strongly before."

Kolchak seemed to shake himself out of a trance. "What? No, I'm not upset. I'm..." He did not finish the thought. "You have an incredible talent." he spoke honestly.

"Thank you." His finger began tracing the grout-lines of the tiles inset into the concrete bench.

"Danny... " he said slowly, but then said nothing more.

"Yes."

He was frowning, lost in thought. "If I tell you something shocking, will it upset you?"

"Does it disrupt my routine?"

"No..."

"Then say it."

Kolchak gripped the sketchbook tightly. "I think it all really happened."

Danny blinked a few times at the concrete. "Dr. Harrelson says it did not."

A glint of _fight_ reappeared in Kolchak's eye. "I say it _did_."

Danny was silent for a bit. "Are you sure? This would over-turn what you have been making progress on for five years."

The older man was staring out into space with narrowed eyes. "I'm sure." he replied with an intensity he hadn't felt in weeks.

Danny was silent a bit longer. "Then I believe you."

"I may have black-outs and raging, but the monsters were **not** figments of my imagination." he spoke with confidence. "I should be out there, fighting them like I used to! But here I am instead. Stuck in here, raging. What lousy luck that _my_ brain should develop a raging disorder. Somebody must not want me out there." he sighed.

"Why? What you did was good. What person would want you out of circulation?"

"No, I was just making a comment on the situation, Danny. Not everything I say needs to be taken concretely––"

"What person would want you out of circulation?" he repeated.

"Well, there _isn't_ anyone, Danny. Like you say, _everybody's_ better off to have the monsters destroyed ––" he stopped short, and a light appeared suddenly in his eye, "**Oh**." he said, thunderstruck.

Danny waited, watching the concrete.

Kolchak's face became dark and stormy. "Of course... _**Of**_ _**course**_**! **It's _Zero_." he said with narrowed eyes.

"Zero's... _playing_ _**hardball**_..."


	10. Chapter 10

***** Before reading this chapter, you may want to read Lucky Ladybug's story Dead Like Me. Please take the time*****

**A Slice of Life**

**Part ten**

* * *

**When you're between any sort of devil and the deep blue sea, the deep blue sea sometimes looks very inviting.**

**––Terence Rattigan**

* * *

"You want to see a _priest _?"

"I'm making a formal request." Kolchak held himself stiffly in front of Dr. Harrelson's large desk.

"That's a bit... unusual... "

"I'm an unusual patient."

"Well, that's true enough." Dr. Harrelson leaned back and studied him. "Why?" he spoke finally.

"I'm convinced it would improve my progress toward mental health."

"Carl, _I'm_ in charge of finding the path for your mental health, not you."

Kolchak fought to control his voice and body language. "I'm making a formal request to be allowed to see a priest in order to improve my mental health."

The psychiatrist scowled in annoyance. "How would this help? Answer me that."

"I believe my raging is not... biochemically based."

"Everything is biochemically based."

"I think this has a more sinister source––"

Dr. Harrelson started to chuckle. "Ah! I see! You think you're possessed! Don't you! Carl, that's _laughable_."

"I'm not laughing, Doctor."

He sobered. "This sort of thing is _exactly_ the reason you are living here. In my professional opinion, the exercise would _not_ help you get in contact with reality. Permission denied." He returned to his paperwork. "Close the door on your way out, Carl."

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

"Murphy, how would you like to cut your work in half?"

"You plannin' on moving out, Carl?"

Kolchak frowned. "As a matter of fact, yes. Can you get a priest to come visit me?"

"Say what?"

"A priest. You know; collar, conservative dresser..."

Murphy cocked his head. "You're not Catholic, Carl."

"How do you know that?"

"We've _had_ that conversation. You're not even religious."

"Well! Let's be pleased I'm turning over a new leaf. Can you get me a priest?"

Murphy raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?" Kolchak nodded. "Have you asked Dr. Harrelson?"

"Yes, of course! He said fine, but you were the one to arrange the logistics. He's a busy man, you know, delegates to his underlings––"

Murphy eyed him suspiciously. "You're lying to me, Champ."

"No, no––"

"Yes, yes. I know Dr. Harrelson better than you do. He runs a very tight ship. You **are** trying to get me fired!"

Kolchak's jaw set in frustration. "I'm not. Honestly. Alright, but if a priest somebody _else_ organized were to appear for some reason at the door, you would _unlock_ it for him, right? _Right_?"

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

The following Sunday, Tony Vincenzo arrived with high expectations, and was not disappointed. Kolchak was clear-eyed and quiet when he was allowed into his room, reading a days-old newspaper. "Hello, Carl." he said hopefully.

Kolchak looked up. "Good Morning, Tony." he answered confidently, closing the paper. "Walk with me in the court-yard today. I have something I want to talk to you about."

* * *

"A priest? Why do you want to talk to a priest?" Tony asked with surprise. They were walking in the pleasant cool of the morning sun.

"I've met someone special here and want to tie the knot," he answered flippantly. "Ask a silly question–get a silly answer." he groused, then glanced around cautiously. "I have an exorcism for him to perform. Listen, do me a favor and don't mention this to the Powers-That-Be..."

"Carl, don't bother the priest..."

"It all makes sense, Tony! This _has_ to be the answer. Do you remember the incident at the Cantigny Park Museum in Chicago?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably, but did not answer.

"I told you what happened, and who I met ––"

"Carl, let's not––"

"It's him, Tony. I'm _sure_ of it. He wants me out of commission."

"Carl, _if_ that were true, and that's a pretty big 'if', I'm sure he's powerful enough to just see to it you get killed in some accident."

"No, he definitely doesn't want me dead, for reasons of his own." He smiled at a private joke. "He doesn't want me _dead_, but as _uncomfortable_ as humanly possible. And questioning myself on every level. _And_ unable to accomplish anything. What better way than this? He's sent some underling demon to keep me occupied. You've read about what possession looks like; the raging, the victim throwing themselves on fires. From what I've gleaned, that's been _me_ for the last five years! Each slice of coherent life I have had over the past five years was never long enough to put any puzzle pieces together – till now. "

"So why should that have changed now? Why can you suddenly string the slices of life together?"

"I don't know."

"And where has this thing gone at this moment, so we can be talking so civilly?"

"Well, obviously if it wants me _alive_, it needs to allow me to eat sometimes... so it would _have_ to leave occasionally. It's probably gotten complacent with me after having controlled me so well for so long. And maybe it's a little bored with me too." He raised a finger. "Something else: I've noticed every time I'm _not_ raging, someone else here _**is**_! Tony ––it's _patient-hopping_!"

"Carl!" Vincenzo tried to get a word in.

"It's demon-possession,Tony! It has to be! We _need_ an exorcism!"

"Carl, this isn't the Middle Ages. These days we use modern medicine––"

"And where has _that_ gotten me these past 5 years? Huh? I ask you! Tony. You told me I could count on you for help. Anytime! You said yourself I'm clearer now than ever before, I have thought this out. Tony, I'm _begging_ you! This will work!"

"Settle down, Carl! Now, I've been talking with your doctor all along––"

"That quack?"

"He's honestly trying to help you. You need to listen to him. I'm certain he would be displeased with me even allowing this _conversation_ to go on this long." He spoke sternly. "Carl. You've got to accept _reality_. Put those odd ideas away––"

"My 'ideas' didn't seem that odd to you at the Cantigny Park Museum." he said, frowning.

"I can be faulted for having tolerated your odd ideas too long, Dr. Harrelson has explained to me that I was playing the role of enabler––"

"_**Enabler**_?" Kolchak spat.

"But I know _better_ now. My first cause is supporting your path to sanity––"

"Vincenzo," he grabbed his sleeve with shock. They stopped walking. There was a long pause. "...you're _not_ going to bring me a priest?" he asked in disbelief.

"I think it's finally time for some Tough Love, Carl. You have _got_ to live in the real world ––"

"Do Tough Love _**next**_ time, I _need_ this––"

"**No**." he sliced the air with his hand. "I've made my decision."

"Tony..." he groped for words. "...do you realize what you're _condemning_ me to?"

"I am _**helping**_ you, fool!" he exploded. Kolchak stared at him for a long minute in silence. "Now, I'm not expecting you to be happy with me, but that's my decision." He started walking again. After a beat Kolchak followed. The wheels were grinding in his head.

Vincenzo glanced quickly at him, but he was deep in thought. They walked in silence.

"Alright," Kolchak finally sighed. "alright. If you're hell-bent on 'helping' me this way, and are not changing your mind, there's one more way you can help." Vincenzo looked up expectantly. The patient presented him both his wrists. "Cut these now and we'll be done with all of it. I don't want to live like this."

Vincenzo looked around nervously and pushed his hands down. "Shush fool! Don't talk like that––"

"I'm serious, Tony." and his face confirmed it. "Knowing the cause of it now, and being locked up here without the help I need... I'm not willing to live the life. I'm _done_." He held up his wrists again, higher this time. "Come on, you'll be doing both of us a favor."

Vincenzo turned an interesting shade of pink, and his hands balled up into tight fists. "I will not cave-in to emotional blackmail, either! You have to overcome this madness of yours using normal, medical channels! Enough of these fantasies and nightmares! Stop fighting the doctor and let him _help_ you! I swear –– _you'll drive **me** crazy next!_"

He turned on his heel and left Kolchak, then the courtyard, then the hospital in short order.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Slice of Life**

**Part eleven**

* * *

**Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well:**

**the devils also believe, and tremble.**

**–– James 2:19 King James Bible**

* * *

It started from far, far away. Excited voices, lots of them. He fought to make sense of it, but it seemed he had only half a brain. And he had _no_ eyesight... There was a tussle going on, he could hear it, but he was removed from it somehow. There was a hissing somewhere. It was speaking; he didn't have enough brain to understand what was being said, but there were definitely _words_... This continued for what felt like a long time, but his half-brain didn't have the computing power to pull it into focus.

Sudden his face hit the floor, almost as if he had fallen like a tree in the woods. He came to himself with a wince and with an echo of a howling ringing in his ears. "Ow! Was that necessary?" he growled. He opened his eyes and brought one hand to his injured cheekbone. He was startled to find he was wearing the restraining bands from the bed on his wrists. Or what was left of them; two short remnant tags of the bands were swinging from the wrist cuffs... and they were _**smoking**_. "_Whoa_." he said in surprise.

He rolled over and looked back to stare at the assembled crowd in his room. Two people lay fainted dead-away on the floor. And as he stared at them in amazement, another one joined the first two. Tony was standing there. Tony! Harrelson was there too, gapping at him, slack-jawed. He hadn't fainted, but sat on the floor as if he had been very tempted to. The whole crowd was frozen and one could have heard a pin drop. Kolchak scanned the faces again and landed on an unfamiliar wide-eyed senior gentleman who was holding a large crucifix out at him with a strong grip while splashing holy water on him with the other hand, considerably more shaky.

It all clicked. Kolchak started laughing, and rolled back onto the floor, feeling more buoyant that he could ever remember in this life. "Pour it on, Padre!" he said gleefully. He lay back and laughed till his sides ached.

"Carl?" Tony asked cautiously, his face white as a ghost.

"Yes, Tony! It's me!" he grinned. "Quite a show, I take it?"

"We **saw** it," one orderly croaked. "––a black..._thing_ was––"

"We saw it **exit** you!" another confirmed, wide-eyed.

Kolchak climbed to his feet. He was sore and exhausted beyond measure, but never felt better. He leaned on the end of the bed for support. "Where did it go?" he asked no-one in particular.

The elderly priest was the only one to answer. "It sank. As well it should have."

"Amen to _that_!" he pulled off the remnants of the restraining bands and shook the old man's hand with both hands.

From there, he staggered to Vincenzo and threw his arms around him where he clapped him on the back and hung on for gratitude, and balance. Vincenzo was badly shaken, but returned the back-clapping.

Aids rushed into the room to attend to the three fallen colleagues.

Kolchak turned his attention to Dr. Harrelson, who still sat on the floor in shock. The patient scowled and patted his face dry of perspiration and water with the cloth of his mushy-yellow shirt. He studied the man, evaluating him, then leaned over to the psychiatrist. "It all happened. Just like I told it," he said. "Tell me something. How's your '_ability to experience feelings of security_' just now, _doctor_?" he asked disdainfully.


	12. Chapter 12 and Epilogue

**A Slice of Life**

**Part twelve**

* * *

**So reports of my madness, as they say, were greatly exaggerated. Not that I give a bugger either way.**

**–– David Icke**

* * *

Two weeks later;

Neon beer signs glowed enthusiastically in the dark windows of Vincenzo's favorite watering hole as the bar-maid set down two frosty glasses in front of two men. Kolchak ran his hands happily down the sides of the glass savoring the anticipation. He took a careful taste, then drank deeply. The larger man beamed.

"Almost worth the wait." Kolchak wiped foam from his upper lip. They grinned at each other. The reporter was once again sporting the hard-lived straw hat that had thankfully been found safe and sound in a locker at the hospital with 'C. Kolchak' written on tape across the door. "So, what made you change your mind? When you left the courtyard that day, I thought the priest idea was out of the question..."

Vincenzo took a long contemplative sip of his beer. "The next week when I came, you were raging again... I..." Tony swung his head from side to side uncomfortably. "... I just couldn't _watch_. That was always so hard on me... Anyway, seeing that once more, especially after having seen you so rational the times before, I realized..." he searched for the right words. "... I would grasp at _**any**_ straw. I turned right around and drove to the closest church I could find and collected Father Wilmer." He chuckled. "Poor Father Wilmer! The old guy didn't know what hit him."

Kolchak smirked. "He'll be telling the story for years."

"Harrelson found us in the hallway, halfway to your room, and tried to stop us..." he trailed off.

"I can see it now! _Vincenzo_ as an Unstoppable Force!" Kolchak grinned and raised his glass in salute.

Vincenzo chuckled. "There may have been words spoken... there may have been some pushing..."

"The right hook got a _lot_ of comment among the orderlies later." Kolchak mentioned smugly.

He chuckled again in response. "Anyway, he ended up in the room _with_ us, as well as a number of others attracted by the spectacle."

Kolchak drank from the smooth amber brew. "Once the Good Father began, I'm assuming the spectacle _really_ started."

Vincenzo fell silent. Kolchak watched him over his glass, his chin resting comfortably in his palm, giving him all the time he needed. With a quick motion, his boss drank a long pull on his beer. His eyes looked haunted, "I'm going to actively work on convincing myself the part that followed never happened."

"You're in luck; I know a doctor who specializes in that. And, as I understand it, he's looking for work right now."

Vincenzo studied the pin-point bubbles rising in his glass. "I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"When I said no priest, and you wanted... to kill yourself because of it, were you being serious, or were you just yanking my chain to get me to change my mind?"

Kolchak smirked. "I plead the fifth." He drank again and closed his eyes as he swallowed. The malty brew had never tasted so sweet.

* * *

ooooooo

* * *

**Part thirteen**

**Epilogue:**

* * *

The greatest healing therapy is friendship.

––Hubert Humphrey

* * *

Twelve months later:

The visitor arrived on Sunday –– just like every week.

He was allowed into the patient's room by the orderly. "Our project had born _fruit_, my friend. It's **here**. Tell me who you are." he said.

Danny swayed excitedly and he actually grinned at the floor. "Good Morning You are Carl Kolchak and I am Danny Belger Pleased to meet you What do you want to know?"

Kolchak smiled broadly, and held out a shiny new hardcover book. "What I want to know is this: how does it feel –– to finally see your drawings in print?"

FIN


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